


Til' the Universe Tears Us Apart

by QueenPunk



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Gotham Academy (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, But are Heavily Implied, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Non-Linear Narrative, Romance, ages are not specified, heroics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-12 18:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenPunk/pseuds/QueenPunk
Summary: “I can help,” Maps insisted, flashlight in hand. A homemade yellow mask crooked on her face, her eyes bright and dark in the cutout holes.“You’ll get yourself killed,” Damian scoffed, not stopping her as she clambered into the Batmobile. She shrugged, oohing and aahing over the car’s many features.“What does this button do?!”“Don’t press it!”------------------A lifetime of heroics, humor, tragedy, and the bond they forged over the course of it.





	

50 Moments of Damian and Maps

I.

“I can help,” Maps insisted, flashlight in hand. A homemade yellow mask crooked on her face, her eyes bright and dark in the cutout holes.

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Damian scoffed, not stopping her as she clambered into the Batmobile. She shrugged, oohing and aahing over the car’s many features.

“What does this button do?!”

“Don’t press it!”

II.

This was a mistake. Damian scowled as he watched Jon and Maps and Colin gushing about the movie they had just stepped out of. Personally, he thought it was shoddily written and lacked anything resembling real depth.

Maps turned to beam at him, her smile a force of nature in its own right, “What did you think? Wasn’t that part where all the bombs under the bridge went off freakin’ awesome?!”

“If by ‘freaking awesome’ you mean terribly choreographed then yes,” he replied. 

She frowned and shook her head, “You really don’t get action movies. We’ll have to have a movie marathon to educate you on the ways of mainstream cinematography.”

III.

Damian was looking at her as if she had grown six head and was reciting Britney Spears’s “Toxic” backwards. He carefully edged closer to the doorway, seemingly planning a quick escape if things went South. 

She swallowed another mouthful of coffee-milk and said imperiously, “You see? My plan is rather simple and could help us solve the mystery much faster if Olive would let me do what I want.”

“...how did you get into our kitchen? It’s three in the morning.”

IV.

“Take a fucking sip, babes,” Pomeline muttered as the dorms burned down, flames framing the full moon hanging over Gotham’s sky. Smoke clung to their hair and clothes, scratching its way down their lungs.

As the other students hurried away in a tight group, Maps was a black silhouette against the dancing orange flames. Her eyes searched in the chaos for a familiar red and green suit. Olive laid a hand across her shoulders, trying to urge her back into the group.

“He’s fine,” she whispered, insistent, but allowed herself to be moved. “He’s got Robin-magic so he’ll be fine.”

The next day, a slightly burned and irritated Damian handed her personalized yearbook back to her, singed brows furrowing. She kissed the well-protected cover.

V.

“I wish I could fly,” Maps said unexpectedly, her hand moving across the page in quick flicks as she worked on her art homework. Ace was cuddled against her side, silver snout pressed into her knees.

“Knowing your luck,” Damian told her, sharpening a batarang on a whetstone, “you’ll probably find an insane way to do that.”

VI.

Damian knew introducing Maps to his Father would be disastrous. He did not think introducing her to the rest of the family would be just as bad.

Talia Al Ghul stared down at the small girl imperiously, sizing up the unexpected visitor in her son’s living room. Maps gaped openly, taking in Talia’s unconcealed weapons and dangerous air.

Talia slightly shook her head and Damian surreptitiously stepped between them. “Mother, would you like to go out to the garden for tea? We will be less likely to be interrupted there.”

After Talia had left, Maps gripping him by the front of his sweater and exclaimed, “Why didn’t you tell me that your Mom’s a badass?!”

VII.

Olive did not like Damian. No matter what Maps did to try and bridge the gap between her two groups of friends, there was nothing that could douse Olive’s hatred for all things Bat related. Although, to be fair, Damian didn’t make it any easier for them to get along.

“Silverlock,” he greeted her coldly. “Still hung up on your Mommy issues?”

“Wayne,” she reciprocated. “Still sucking on Daddy’s silver batarang?”

Maps clapped her hands, “I hear the fries in this burger joint are out of this world. Do you guys want to order the super size and split it three ways? What kind of toppings and dips do you want? I’m thinking cheese and barbecue sauce.”

“Why don’t you crawl back into your cave and choke on guano?” suggested Olive to Damian, ignoring Maps.

“Why don’t you--”

Maps didn’t hear the rest, sneaking off to a table across the restaurant. She scrolled through her contacts and invited Colton and Colin. She wouldn’t give up but even she knew when to throw in the towel.

VIII.

“I think I’m in love,” Maps whispered in awe.

Damian snorted, “Wonderful. Should I expect flowers and chocolates?”

“If I give you that will you let me drive the batplane?” she asked, still staring starry-eyed up at the hovering vehicle. It was sleek and black, silent like a stalking panther. She wanted one. She wanted one so bad her teeth ached.

“That wouldn't be a fair trade for a multimillion dollar plane that you would crash in three seconds.”

IX.

Damian was crouched on her windowsill, a wriggling ball of fluff nestled in his arms. “I need your assistance. My Father will not allow me to keep her at the manor. Can you take care of her until I find a suitable home?”

Rubbing at her sleep crusted eyes, Maps shrugged, “Sure. It can’t be that hard to hide a puppy as long as it’s quiet.”

He gently passed the tiny creature into her arms, placing a bag of supplies on the ground. As he slipped back out the window, its golden head lifted to blink sweetly up at her. 

“You aren’t a puppy. You are very cute, but you are not a puppy.”

The lion cub yawned and went back to sleep. Damian owed her a thousand rides in the batplane and she intended to make him pay up.

X.

Maps took in a rattling breath, each rise and fall sending a new bolt of pain across her side. She lifted up her hand from where it was pressed against her ribs. Her skin was stained a glistening, sickening shade of ruby. She felt like she was going to throw up but couldn’t summon the energy to follow through with the action.

She closed her eyes and counted her breaths, refusing to think about what led to this. It wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t Olive’s fault. It was just the way it had to happen; the odds were just not stacked in their favor this time. 

A masked face hovered over her and she recognized the black spikes as Damian. Shouts and crashes continued to come from further down the dark hallway. 

“You’re fine, Maps,” he told her with wavering confidence. “But you need to stay conscious. Batman is on his way and you want to be up to see him, right?”

No, I wanted to see you, she thought as her eyes drifted shut. 

XI.

“I’m not saying this is a bad idea,” Batgirl said. “I’m just saying it may lead to our deaths and inevitable zombie states.”

“What do you have against zombies, huh, blondie?” Red Hood snapped, clipping his guns into their holsters. His red helmet gleamed under the cave’s dim lighting. By his side, Red Robin retracted his bo staff before snapping it back out with a flick of his wrist, testing how quickly it responded. 

“Pay attention,” Nightwing snapped, drawing their attention back to him before he went over the plan once again. Black Bat made a few quick signs at Red Robin that made him laugh behind a gloved hand. On the screen an invisible hand typed last minute details.

Damian stepped closer to her, looking even more disgruntled than normal. “I’ll drive you back to the Academy.”

Maps seized him by the arms, her expression wild with manic glee, a terrifyingly splitting smile spread across her face, “Don’t. Take. This. From. Me.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, muttering darkly under his breath. 

XII.

Adjusting the tiny yellow flowers clipped into her hair, Maps asked her mirror with a sly grin, “Do I look good? Cause I think I look good.”

“You look like a prettier version of James Bond,” Olive complimented her, zipping up her own strapless dress. Maps adjusted the lapels of her suit, admiring the smooth dark grey material as it slid against her fingers.

As Olive slipped out of the room to find her date, Maps pulled out her box of ties and picked out a matching bright yellow one for the occasion. A knock on the window drew her attention and she unlocked the latch, laughing as Damian stepped into the room.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

Damian snatched the tie out of her hands, making quick work of looping it under her collar. His fingers were steady as he secured it into place. He grumbled as he worked, “I simply have nowhere else to be tonight.”

“Just my luck,” she joked. 

XIII.

Maps stared at the outfit loud out on the table, her muscles still screaming from training. She walked towards it, reverently holding her hands above the fabric, not quite touching it. Yellow reversible cape, yellow boots, a yellow mask lying on top of the red shirt. 

“It’s only temporary,” Damian told her, arms crossed over his chest. “While I’m off world with the Titans you--”

“I get to be Robin,” she whispered before shouting with elation, “I’M ROBIN!”

XIV.

Maps squinted at him, “You’re Robin.”

“That’s what I just said. Really, Mizoguchi, I thought you were more intelligent than this.”

“Uh-huh,” Maps said. “If you’re Robin then prove it.”

Damian gestured down at himself, “I’m wearing the damn outfit, aren’t I?”

“Yep,” Maps agreed, tilting her head to the side. “But you could be Batman pretending to be Robin to throw me off your tail.”

“Were you dropped on your head as an infant?”

XV.

“Kyle, this is Damian Wayne,” Maps introduced them without preamble.

Instead of being his typical smartass self, Damian extended a hand up and said, “You must be her brother. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Kyle said,ignoring the offered hand. He was still in a state of shock. “How-how did you crash a golf cart?”

Maps ducked her head sheepishly while Damian explained, “We modified it to suit our needs.”

She butted in, struggling to crawl out of the upturned vehicle, “And we needed it to go a hundred miles per hour or more so we could catch a Man-bat.”

XVI.

Maps leaned over his shoulder, digging her fork into his waffle and shoving a large size of it into her mouth. Damian turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised expectantly. She smiled, chewing. Then her smile twisted into a grimace, jaw moving less enthusiastically.

Abruptly, she snatched one of his napkins away, holding it up to her mouth to spit up the chewed up waffle. 

“How did you ruin waffles?” she wailed in despair, flinging the wadded up napkin next to his plate.

“They’re vegan. I requested Pennyworth experiment on a few recipes.”

“Alfred made these?” she hissed. “You made Alfred’s cooking taste awful--how dare you?”

“To be fair, Alfred can’t even make normal waffles that taste good,” Damian chuckled.

“Liar.”

XVII.

She poked him in the middle of his furrowed brows, “Go to bed.”

“Not tired,” he mumbled, visibly swaying on his feet. “I’ll just have an energy dri--”

Maps reached up and steered him by the shoulders towards the nearest cot, not taking ‘no’ for an answer. 

XVIII.

“I think my foot might be broken,” Maps said in a small voice, trying to find a hold on the ancient wall so that she could stand up. She hopped forward awkwardly a few paces before testing her throbbing foot. Hissing in pain, she retracted the leg upward. “Yep. Definitely broken.”

As if to punctuate that statement with more bad news, gunshots echoed down the hallway, boots stamping on the hard-packed earth.   
Damian thought quickly, telling her, “You’re not going to like this,” before throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Maps beat her fists on his broad back, protesting profusely against her new position.

“NO! I don’t wanna be a damsel!” she wailed. “I’m supposed to be the one saving them!”

“You can be the knight next time,” he informed her dryly while racing through the winding corridors.

XIX.

On the screen, a gunshot rang. A red figure dropped, a dark shadow racing afterwards with arms outstretched.

In a room in another city in another time of day, another figure in red stood frozen in horror.

XX.

“I love the night,” Maps sighed, stretched out on the hood of her car. One earbud was pressed into her ear, the other nestled in Damian’s. He sat cross legged, instead gazing down the valley, seeing the black heights and shining lights of Gotham. It looked strangely small and clustered from where they were tucked away. 

“Do you ever think of leaving?” he asked, startled at his own question. He blamed the friendly woodland shadows for these unpleasant emotions. They brought out weaknesses in him. 

“Nope,” Maps answered quietly. “But Olive does. All the time. Do you?”

Still staring at his father’s city, he didn’t answer her. 

XXI.

Maps was practically leaping into the air, waving her arms wildly. As the blue streak in the sky slowed down and took shape, Damian sighed and glared. He was undecided who he was more mad at for this scenario. Himself or Maps or Jon.

Jon floated gracefully in front of them, an All-American boy smile spread across his face, waving just as eagerly at Maps. “Hey. You’re Maps, right? It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Superboy knows my name,” she whispered ecstatically to herself before asking him, “ How strong are you?”

He flexed the rippling muscles in his arms, “Pretty strong.”

“Maps,” Damian started but it was already too late.

“Are you strong enough to fly me around Gotham?”

“Sure! Heck, I could probably fly you around the world while we’re at it.”

“Jon,” Damian tried to cut in.

“Awesome! I’ve always wanted to see Notre Dame and Big Ben and that house where Sherlock was written. The books, not the shows, because I think they really mischar--”

“Have you both lost your minds?” Damian roared. “It’s the middle of the day. She’s a civilian! You can’t just whisk her off around the globe without someone noticing!”

“Dude,” Colin drawled from where he was perched on his motorcycle. “You need to chill.”

XXII.

It was freezing the next time Maps saw Damian again--the winter break after his expulsion. 

She was in Gotham’s Mall--a bad idea, that place was robbed more often than the banks--waiting in line for the release of a new video game her and her brother had been waiting to come out. She was planning to surprise him with it for Christmas. 

Damian, seated on a bench, was hunched over and reading something on his phone. Maps almost hadn't recognized him with his hair gelled up and his clothes black and much too professional for his age. His face was pinched, an eye twitching either from stress or anger. Maps, after a moment of debate, stepped out of her spot in line. 

She plopped down next to him on the bench, giving him a little two fingered salute and a wink, “Hiya stranger! Been a long time since we last saw each other, huh?”

Damian snorted, “Go away, Mizoguchi. I have no interest being dragged into your childish nonsense once again.”  
Maps glared at him, throwing her hands up in the air, “Well excuuuuuse me for trying to be nice. See if I ever try to again.”

As she marched off, Damian couldn’t suppress a small smile of triumph. He ordered the game and had it sent to her house. Untraceable. Just the way he liked it.

She figured it out, of course.

XXIII.

She kissed him for the first time next to the ocean, salt stinging their bruised lips. He felt her steal the breath from his lungs and didn’t care. 

He was drowning and never wanted it to end. 

XXIV.

Maps swung a leg over the cherry red motorcycle. She wrapped her fingers around the handlebars, the rubber grooves pressing encouragingly against her palms. Her legs spread beneath her, she balanced on her tiptoes to keep balance. “Soooo, when do I get to drive this bad girl?”

“When you get a license,” he informed her.

“You don’t have a license,” she said, feeling around trying to find the ignition. She couldn’t see any sort of keyhole. Maybe it was triggered by a code of fingerprints or retinal scanning? Maps was determined to find out. 

“I do.”

“No, you don’t,” she laughed, twisting the handles and pretending she could hear the roar of an engine and the squeal of tires on the pavement.

“Yes, I do,” Damian insisted, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He flipped the soft black faux-leather open, waving it in front of her face. Maps craned her head back so she didn’t have to strain her eyes. Protected by clear plastic, Damian’s masked face stared back at her. Instead of relegating him to a state, the Bat Symbol hung proudly. Next to where his birth date should be was the Robin Symbol. His blood type was B+. 

“This is a fake I.D. for Robin,” she exclaimed, sliding it out of its sheath to inspect the craftsmanship. 

“It isn’t fake,” he said indignantly, folding his arms across his chest. “According to Gordon all of the Robins were allowed one so as to drive without interference from the GPD.”

Maps glared at him and huffed, “That is so not fair.” Then she perked up, a realization blossoming in her mind, “So what you’re saying is that if I were Robin then---”

“I’m not retiring anytime soon.”

XXV.

“How do you do that?” Damian asked, a little awed despite himself.

“Do what?” Maps asked, inspecting the updated grapple gun in her hands. 

“Not cower in fear in front of Batman,” he said. “I’ve seen greater men fall apart when he glares like that. You didn’t even flinch.”

She tilted her head, pressed her pointer finger to her lips and answered mysteriously, “It’s a secret.”

XXVI.

A little girl with black pigtails played in a graveyard, darting around the breaking stones as a small dog chased after her. Trailing behind them, a woman with shockingly white hair followed at a much more subdued pace.

While the girl rolled in the dew covered grass, her yellow ribbons falling loose, her caretaker paused at a pair of graves. She said nothing, only distant giggling breaking the unbearable silence of the cemetery. Laying a bouquet of roses and sunflowers onto the lifeless stone, she murmured a few words towards her fallen friends. 

Drops of water landed on the flowers. She supposed it was the rain. 

XXVII.

Damian would always remember the first time he realized that what he felt for Maps was not exactly platonic. It was nothing dramatic, more an ‘oh’ moment of acceptance and recognition. 

They had fallen asleep in the library--the one closest to the gardens--while trying to figure out the newest mystery of the ‘alien’ chickens at Gotham Academy. 

She had been slumped over a pile of books, mouth slightly parted. The first golden rays of sunrise bathed her in a halo of light, darkening the curve of her black eyelashes, her freckles standing out like constellations across the bridge of her nose and the fullness of her cheeks. Clutched in her hand was a Wonder Woman pencil with a chibi Batman eraser on top. 

As he had stretched awake, blinking the sleep from his eyes and shoving away the ridiculous amount of work they had done, he wondered, Why am I doing this?

Then she had mumbled in her slumber, “...lemme at ‘em...wanna ride the molar bear...” which she then followed with sticking the eraser into her mouth and gnawing on Batman’s flattened ears.

Oh. That’s why.

XXVIII.

“Show me how to shoot a gun,” was the first thing out of Maps’s mouth when she met the Red Hood. Her eyes were uncharacteristically filled with brimming fire, hands clenched into fists. 

To be honest, Jason was a little scared to tell her no.

“I want to learn how to use the bo,” she greeted Tim in the foyer, munching on a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

To be honest, Tim mainly went along with it to piss Damian off.

“Dick,” Maps started, but he held up a hand.

“Say no more, young padawan. I got this.”

To be honest, Dick volunteered because her dogged determination was adorable. Plus, it pissed Batman off. 

Damian was browsing the library shelves when Maps stepped behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. 

To be honest, he was prepared when she flipped him over herself, knocking his head into the maroon carpet.

Still sweating from her earlier training session, she looked down at him with a beaming smile, “See? I can take care of myself just fine.”

XXIX.

Damian was growing to be taller then Maps. Much taller. She now had to tip her head almost entirely back to meet his gaze when they talked. 

When they argued he alway drew himself into his full height, chest puffed out in indignation and self-righteous anger. Maps learned to find a chair to stand on the instant their conversations got heated.

When they fought, he tried to use his bulk to put himself between her and the worst of the danger. She may have learned how to use his shoulder as a way to flip over him. He may have been both impressed and frustrated when she did.

When they slept together at night, he always curled up against her back, an arm wrapped around her waist. She learned that sometimes when they were at their lowest it was best just to hold each other. 

XXX.

“Happy birthday, Dami!” she cheered, the pink-striped party hat sitting crooked on her head. Before he could respond, she shoved a medium sized box into his face. “Hope you like it because this one has a no return policy!”

Despite the nerves that statement incited, Damian carefully tore the bat print wrapping paper to reveal a black faux-leather notebook. There was no embellishment on the cover, no special designs, but as his fingers touched the edges of paper he could feel the weight they carried. 

The pages were an interwoven story--his story. Newspaper clippings featuring his outing as Robin in Gotham mixed with family photos of him and his father and mother and brother. There were pictures of him and the Titans--in the Tower, fighting in the streets. Closer to home was his adventures seen through Maps’s eyes; of Jon and Colin and the Detective Club all going out and trying to puzzle through their paths in the world. 

“Do you like it?” she asked, looping her arms around his neck.

“I suppose it will do,” he answered, tracing the edges of the final photograph. It was grainy, black and white. It was heart stoppingly perfect.

XXXI.

Maps kissed him for the first time because she didn’t know what else to do. There was blood everywhere. She folded her hands one on top of the other, pumping vigorously against his chest. She wouldn’t have been surprised if she cracked his ribs.

He coughed up the water, which did nothing for the bullet wound in his side. As he sucked in a small gasp of air she pressed her lips to his. She wasn’t sure if the salt she tasted was from the ocean, his blood, or her tears.

XXXII.

Maps clutched a movie case close to her chest and solemnly told him, “The movie we are about to watch is the most important in all of cinema history. It undoubtedly spawned many into becoming vigilantes themselves and speaks more about our political climate now than when it was first released into the theatres.”

Damian rolled his eyes, head propped against his fist, elbow crooked on the couch’s arm. “Just put the movie in the player, Mizoguchi.” 

She wrinkled her nose at him, but did as he said. 

In the dark, sitting on opposite ends of the couch, Damian and Maps watched the first few minutes of V for Vendetta.

He broke the silence to say snidely, “They should have kept her as a prostitute.”

Maps turned to him, eyes glowing in the shadows, “You read the comic?! I know right? Taking that away from the character makes the beginning make no sense. Why would someone as cautious and smart as Evie just risk going out after curfew if she doesn’t have to?”

XXXIII.

Colin looked between them, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and rocking back on his heels, “Soooooo, uh, are you two dating?”

“Dating?” Maps echoed.

“Yeah, y’know. Boyfriend/girlfriend and all that jazz?”

Damian snorted,” Don’t be juvenile, Colin. We are not boyfriend/girlfriend.” He said the two terms with disdain dripping from every syllable.

Maps nodded along with that sentiment, “Yeah, we’re not.”

Colin stared blatantly where the two of them had their hands clasped in each other’s grip. “Ya sure about that?”

Maps shook her head, waving her free hand with wiggles of her fingers. “Yeah, Colin. We’re partners in crime.”

XXXIV. 

“There’s a dance tomorrow night,” Maps said, out of the blue. Both Jon and Colin paused where they were working on the beat up old vehicle.

Damian grunted, on his tablet and ordering more supplies to upgrade the engine. 

“At my school,” she continued, as if that fact weren’t obvious.

While both Jon and Colin signed quick bet wagers to one another, Damian looked up and asked her, “Are you sure going to a dance is a good idea for you?”

“What?”

“You have an inconvenient habit of attracting unwanted attention to yourself. I imagine the dance will be crashed by one of those inconveniences--causing unavoidable chaos. I, for one, would rather be anywhere else than near that maelstrom of disaster.”

“That’s good,” she chirped. “Cause I wasn’t inviting you. Jon? Colin? You guys wanna come?”

XXXV.

They died on an otherwise unremarkable Wednesday. An explosion in the sky followed by silence and then sirens.

Screaming and tears and denial and wishing for a dash of Robin magic to make it all better also followed.

But they weren’t Robins anymore.

So they stayed dead.

XXXVI.

“Who’s a good boy?” Maps cooed, laying almost her entire body across Goliath’s head. The giant dragon-bat growled happily at the attention, closing his eyes and nuzzling into the embrace.

Batcow, feeling left out, nudged her head against Damian’s shoulders insistently. He shoved her head away with one hand before scratching her chin, keeping his other arm against his body. 

“Calm down,” he instructed her. “You don’t want to wake the baby.”

Nestled in Damian’s arm, Mariand’r Grayson slept peacefully.

XXXVII.

The thing was, neither Maps or Damian could cook. Alfred had known about Damian’s shortcoming but hadn’t anticipated that Maps would fall flat in this particular area as well. He also had not anticipated walking into his kitchen at five in the morning to...this.

His poor, beloved kitchen. Utterly destroyed. 

And the two culprits sitting pretty on the countertops, delightfully eating raw cookie dough. Their eyebrows were singed off, clothes torn, all manner of ingredients plastered along the length of their bodies; they looked far too pleased with the chaos they had caused.

Maps may have thought herself above trembling at the wrath of Batman. She did not foresee how that paled in comparison to facing the fury of Alfred. 

XXXVIII.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Maps asked, settling into the pilot’s seat. 

“No, but that has never stopped us before,” he answered as they both automatically checked all the instruments on the dashboard. The Batplane was designed to look complicated but was actually rather simple to pilot. 

Now almost bouncing in her seat, Maps reached for the controls. “Ready when you are, Robin. Where should we go? Moscow? Tokyo?”

“We are going to make a loop over Gotham’s outerlimits before coming back, Robin,” Damian instructed.

“Four loops,” she pressed as the plane gently started to hover over the ground. 

“Two.”

“Four.”

“Two.”

“Four,” she sang.

“Three,” he snapped. “Anymore and Father will notice its absence.”

XXXIX. 

“Don’t be nervous,” Maps told him, looping his blue-grey tie with practiced efficiency. “At worst, they will tolerate you.”

“I am not nervous,” he said, moving to adjust her red bow tie. “I am perfectly composed.”

Maps didn’t believe him for a second but she shrugged. Even if he didn’t behave it wasn’t like she had ever had much stock in her parents’ opinion in the first place.

XL.

Damian inspected her latest casefile, one that involved a child sex trafficking ring that she could barely stomach to look at. Casually he mentioned, “My Mother has requested that I spend the next year training under her tutelage.”

“Oh, Dami,” Maps rolled away from the computer. She didn’t know the whole mess that involved Talia and Damian’s screwed up relationship, but she did know that an offer like that would either make or break it. She laid a hand on his arm reassuringly, “That sounds--I don’t know. Do you think you’ll go? Has she told you what you’ll be studying?”

“Mother insists that it won’t be like when I was younger. That this time--without the threat of Grandfather hanging over our heads--she will be able to teach me properly. The way she always wanted to, so that I can be the heir that the al Ghuls’ deserve,” he sighed, frustrated. “She says all this now, but I am not an idiot. My training regime may have been created by Grandfather but it was her who oversaw its every step.”

Maps bit her lip before tentatively saying, “She may have changed.”

“She might not have,” he snarled.

“I was getting to that. Whether or not she’s changed doesn’t matter. It’s up to you to decide if you want to go. And if you don’t and she still wants to get to know you--as her son, not her heir--then she will be willing to meet you halfway. Or maybe for lunch once a month or something non threatening like that.” 

Damian stared at the file in his hands as if it held the secrets of the universe. Quietly, Maps went back to working. 

XLI.

“I’m leaving,” Maps told him, a rucksack strung over her shoulder, dark bruise-like shadows under her eyes. 

“Fine,” Damian snapped. “Then leave.”

“I have to do this,” she started to explain but he held up a hand, cutting her speech short.

“I don’t need your excuses. You’re choosing to leave and I’m not stopping you from running away like a coward.”

She slapped his hand down and stepped closer, agitated and nervous like a caged animal. She didn’t need his damned condescension right now. “Would you listen to me, you pigheaded idiot? I’m leaving Gotham.”

And me, he thought, knowing he was being petulant and selfish. But his Mother was dead. His Father was offworld. Dick had a family of his own now. Tim was in a fucking mental ward. Jason was locked up in the bowels of Arkham. It wasn’t fair.

“I--I need to get away from all this,” she waved her hand vaguely in the air. Indicating the city they were suffocated in and him. “After what happened to us...I need to get perspective away from here. I have to find out if I have what it takes to be more than a part-time sidekick.”

“You’re not a sidekick,” he muttered. She had always been more of a hero than the entire Batfamily put together. Even while mad he could see that. 

“Yeah,” Maps sighed, a little wistful. A little sad. “Yeah, I am.”

XLII.

“We require food,” Damian demanded, glaring up at his Father. Bruce paused, glancing around the otherwise empty hallway. 

“We?” 

As if summoned, three heads poked out of the library doors, stacked black-red-black. Their eyes were owlishly wide, looking at Bruce as if he were a Greek god come to life. Bruce decided to lecture his son on revealing the family secrets another time--the fact that he had any friends to spill secrets to was a miracle in itself. 

“Why don’t I ring Alfr--”

“No. We need pizza and cheesy breadsticks,” Damian interrupted, stumbling over saying the plebeian food. Bruce wasn’t sure Damian even knew what ‘cheesy breadsticks’ were. His friends did, faces lighting up with ravenous delight, pupils blown wide at the very idea.

“Fine,” he sighed, pulling out his cell phone. “Toppings?”

XLIII.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked as they both watched the sky split with a familiar symbol.

“Hope.”

XLIV.

Maps drew an eye, leaving the irises without pupils or reflective light. She passed the paper and pencil to Damian. He added a check mark brow, bushy and detailed and angry. He gave her the paper and pencil back. Maps drew an oak leaf shaped ear floating off to the side. 

Damian frowned before adding a square-like jawline. She scribbled out ridiculously thick sideburns. He added a leech's mouth, an O with rows and rows of sharp teeth. Maps put the V of a cupid’s bow before outlining the mouth in sketched lipstick. Damian drew a blocky X where the other eye would go. She placed a normal ear on that side. He made the curve of a high dome, connecting from ear to ear. 

In the room across from them, a funeral service proceeded. 

XLV.

It was a silent night until a voice spoke clearly into her comm, “Maps, I have decided that we need a dog.”

“No,” Batman growled, dark and foreboding. 

Maps agreed with Damian, “I think so too. Do you want to go to the shelter tomorrow?”

“The two of you already have--”

“I believe a smaller dog would work best so that it may be a companion for Alfred.”

“The two of you live in my--”

“But a bigger dog could play with Goliath!” Maps protested, sitting down on the edge of the roof, her legs swinging in the air. 

“A bigger dog would be more likely to irritate Batcow.”

“I’m pretty sure Batcow could survive through a nuclear bombing and still be unruffled,” she noted. 

“There will be NO new dogs, is that understood?” Batman boomed over the comms.

Silence once more.

A small, high-pitched bark.

Then, a deep sigh of resignation. 

XLVI.

“The camera, sweetheart, look at the camera,” Dick begged his three year old daughter. Mar’i shoved another piece of chocolate cake in her mouth, floating up out of her high chair. A teddy bear patterned leash was all that kept her tethered to it. “Please, Mar’i, do it for Mommy. Don’t you want me to send a pretty picture to Mommy?”

“No,” she informed him, flinging chocolate at his phone and turning to face away from him.

Damian watched the proceedings with a strange fascination. The push and pull between father and daughter almost reminded him of when he had first joined the family, although he had a much more extensive vocabulary to reject suggestions with.

He finished preparing their lunch before Mar’i could start flinging things at him. Once back in the study with Maps, he took a few bites of his sandwich, pausing to ask he, “Hypothetically, if we were to have a child...we wouldn’t put a leash on them, right?”

Maps patted his shoulder sympathetically, “Not unless we can help it.”

XLVII.

“Soooooo,” Jon drawled out, arms crossed behind his head. “How long have you had a crush on Damian?”

Maps spit out the water she had been drinking.

XLVIII.

“Damian,” her voice sounded more chipper than it had been since...what happened. “I’m coming home.”

He grunted. 

“Aw, c’mon you know you missed me,” she teased. 

“I suppose the Cave has been silent without your endless nattering,” he conceded with a smile that she couldn’t see. 

XLIX.

Huh. So this was what a hero’s death was like. Maps swallowed down the blood clogging her throat. The ship's trajectory was already set--as far away from the planet as it could get in the timeframe they had.

She pushed back the hair matted to Damian’s forehead, slowly peeled off his mask. His eyes gazed back up at hers blankly, the body next to her already starting to cool. His neck was twisted at an impossible angle. 

Pressed close to his side, with a punctured lung and broken legs, she stared up at the stars glittering coldly above. She thought about wanting to fly.

She thought about Hope.

L.

“I think we should start over,” Maps said after she had paused to take a breath. Damian eyed her warily, unsure where she was going with this after she had spent a good thirty minutes--possibly without breathing--thanking him profusely for buying her that stupid game. “I mean, we kind of haven't had the greatest encounters in the past so--”

She stuck out a hand, “I’m Mia Mizoguchi but everyone calls me Maps.”

Damian looked at her hand as if he expected it to leap off her arm and bite him, eventually he clasped it in his own. “I am Damian al Ghul-Wayne.”

“Well, Damian,” she smiled, eyes filled with mirth. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Maps.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are encouraged and kudos are welcomed! Thank you for reading!


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